Rivals (29 page)

Maud could have murdered Caitlin, but she didn’t want a scene in public.

‘You better say Grace,’ giggled Caitlin, who’d been at the Malibu, ‘and she’ll come running in singing “This Joyful Eastertide”.’

It was obvious, reflected Tony with satisfaction, that Maud and Declan had had the most frightful row – probably about money. Earlier in the day Declan had very forcibly stressed that it was a tiny party, just a few friends, but there must be at least three hundred people here and by the way the Moët was being splashed about, nothing had been stinted, which was good, because the broker Declan got, the more dependent he’d be on Corinium, and the more Tony could torment and manipulate him.

Then, looking across the room at Maud’s enraptured face turned towards Rupert, her elbows pressed together to deepen her cleavage, her turkey soup untouched, he decided it was more likely that Declan was upset because his wife had a thumping great crush on Rupert. This suited Tony even better, because it meant Declan would crucify Rupert even more when he interviewed him in the New Year.

Sarah Stratton, who’d stopped to say hullo to Rupert on the way in, was looking rather bleak as she sat down beside Tony.

‘I’m glad we’re next to each other,’ he said. ‘I wanted to talk to you.’

‘Have you made any New Year’s resolutions?’ said Sarah, picking up her soup spoon.

‘Yes,’ said Tony, his swarthy pirate’s face suddenly looking as though he was going to fight off a flotilla of rival clipper ships, ‘to keep the franchise.’

‘I’ll drink to that,’ said Sarah.

‘I wouldn’t mind,’ said Simon Harris across the room, helping himself to a seventh piece of garlic bread, ‘but Tony came roaring in today saying I’m not having fucking language like that on any fucking programme going out from my fucking station.’

‘Sorry to bother you, Mr Harris,’ said Mrs Makepiece, ‘but your baby’s crying.’

It was not surprising the baby was upset, surrounded as it was upstairs by scenes of Petronian debauchery, as teenagers smoked, drank, necked, and screamed with laughter as they opened another packet of Tampax and shot the cotton wool out like cannons.

Archie was sharing a bottle of Moët with Caitlin, who had briefly abandoned Rupert at dinner to smoke an illicit cigarette.

‘What has an Upland House girl in common with a Tampax?’ Archie asked her.

‘Dunno,’ said Caitlin.

‘They’re both stuck-up cunts.’

Caitlin screamed with laughter. ‘Have you got a girlfriend?’

‘I did,’ said Archie, ‘but she went off me because of my zits.’

‘You mustn’t worry about zits,’ said Caitlin kindly. ‘It means you’re producing lots of Testosterone and will make a wonderfully vigorous lover later. Piss off, you snotty little buggers,’ she screamed, as Simon Harris’s monsters raced up and down giggling at the necking teenagers and threatening each other with one of Rupert’s borrowed knives.

‘My father said all your family were weirdos,’ said Archie, ‘but I think you’re cool.’

Declan, whom Maud had put deliberately between Monica and Valerie, so he couldn’t make a scene, was so drunk he was in danger of seriously jeopardizing his career. He didn’t even realize Monica was talking about
Otello
until she got onto Iago.

‘He’s an even more evil character than Scarpia,’ she was saying.

‘Much more,’ agreed Declan. ‘Very like your husband in fact.’

‘Garlic bread, either of you?’ said Valerie, unable to believe her ears.

‘Your husband is an absolute shit,’ said Declan.

‘I know,’ said Monica calmly, as she tore off a piece of garlic bread. ‘However, I have three children and I don’t believe in divorce.’

‘Nor do I,’ said Declan, filling up both their glasses.

Valerie was absolutely livid when the farmer on her left said, ‘You live at Long Bottom Court, don’t you?’ She didn’t want to talk to him at all. She wanted to listen to what Monica was saying to Declan.

‘You won’t try and wind Tony up too much at work, will you?’ went on Monica. ‘You’re very good for Corinium. They need people with integrity. I’d like you to stay.’

‘I’m not sure your husband would.’

‘I think we’d both better stop discussing Tony, ‘said Monica gently, ‘or we might become very indiscreet. This is a very good party. Maud’s looking so beautiful.’

‘Has anyone ever told you you’re a beautiful woman?’ said Declan.

Monica went pink. ‘That’s jolly well overdoing it. You really ought to eat some of this shepherd’s pie. It’s frightfully good.’

But Declan was looking at Maud who was gazing at Rupert.
‘O heart! O heart!
’ he murmured,
‘if she’d but turn her head.’

‘You’d know the folly of being comforted,’
said Monica, finishing the quotation for him. ‘Don’t worry about Rupert,’ she went on briskly. ‘Bertie Berkshire once described him as a “particularly nasty virus, that one’s wife caught sooner or later”, but we all get over it.’

Declan looked back at her, startled. ‘Even you?’

Monica sighed. ‘Even me, although Rupert had no idea. Don Giovanni must have been very like him. He can’t resist the conquest, and I think, although he won’t admit it, he still misses show-jumping desperately, and it’s a question of constantly filling the aching void.’

‘He’s usually filling other people’s wives’ aching voids,’ said Declan bitterly.

At last Maud had to stop monopolizing Rupert and turn to Declan’s old boss at the BBC, Johnny Abrahams, who was sitting on her left.

‘Lovely party, darling,’ he said. ‘Hope you can pay for it. What’s up with Declan? Not working out with Tony Baddingham? I did warn him.’

‘Don’t be silly,’ said Maud. ‘You know Declan always has rows wherever he is. But look at him now, getting on like a house on fire with Tony’s wife.’

‘You can talk to me now,’ said Caitlin to Rupert.

‘How d’you do? I saw you at Midnight Mass,’ said Rupert.

He liked her merry face and her bright beady eyes.

‘Tell me,’ he went on lowering his voice, ‘is your sister ever going to forgive me?’

‘Ah,’ said Caitlin, ‘well, you haven’t been very nice to her. I heard about the groping at the dinner party, which was pretty crass, and the row over the stubble burning. Taggie probably over-reacted there; she’s so soppy about animals, she spends her time prising frozen worms off the paths in this weather. What really pissed her off was that you were so unkind about Gertrude.’

‘Gertrude?’ said Rupert, bewildered.

‘Our dog. You may think Gertrude is very plain, but we’re all devoted to her. Taggie’s led such a sheltered life, she’s never left home like Patrick and me, and she and Gertrude have never been parted.’

Rupert grinned. ‘Perhaps I should have sent Gertrude a pendant instead.’

‘Oh my God,’ said Caitlin in horror, ‘it was
you!
Because you signed it R, we all assumed it was from Ralphie. Taggie’s mad about him, you see.’

‘Glad I gave her a happy Christmas,’ said Rupert acidly.

‘But she’s not happy now, because Ralphie’s turned up with another woman.’

‘Which is he?’

‘That blond over there. Taggie likes blonds, so if you give her time . . .’

‘Caitlin,’ said Maud very sharply, ‘go and tell Taggie to clear away the fruit salad plates. We must have Patrick’s cake, or we’ll be still sitting here at midnight.’ She turned to Rupert. ‘We’ve managed to get tickets for
Starlight Express
the week after next. D’you want to come?’

‘Don’t talk about things that happen after I go back,’ grumbled Caitlin, getting up.

‘Taggie, Taggie,’ she squealed, racing into the kitchen, ‘Mummy wants the plates cleared, then we can have Patrick’s cake.’

‘There isn’t anyone to clear them,’ said Taggie in despair. ‘Both the Makepiece children have vanished, and I can’t find Mrs Makepiece or Grace, or Reg, or either of Reg’s friends.’

‘Never mind that now,’ said Caitlin. ‘This is
far
more exciting. It was Rupert who sent you that pendant, because he was sorry about goosing you at Valerie Jones’s.’

‘There’s no way we’re going to get 300 slices out of this.’ Taggie nearly dropped Patrick’s cake. ‘What did you say?’

‘Rupert sent you the pendant.’

‘He couldn’t have,’ whispered Taggie. ‘I hate him.’

‘No, you don’t. He’s really nice. Go and sit next to him. I’ll try and find Reg and his mates to carry the cake in and people can eat it on their fruit salad plates. Go on, Tag.’

‘Never, never,’ gasped Taggie. She was deathly pale now. ‘I’m going to send it back.’

Maud’s plans had gone seriously awry. She had wanted them all to be dancing and she and Rupert to be standing under one of Caitlin’s hundred bunches of mistletoe at midnight, but they were still sitting at the tables waiting for Patrick to cut his cake. Why on earth couldn’t Taggie be more efficient?

At five minutes to midnight Declan got somewhat unsteadily to his feet, and tapped the table with his knife. ‘I’m very pleased to see you all here tonight,’ he said, ‘and I’d just like to drink my son Patrick’s health. He’s a good boy and he’s given us a lot of pleasure over the years.’

‘And me too,’ piped up Patrick’s girlfriend, Lavinia, and everyone laughed and sang ‘Happy Birthday’ and said ‘Speech! Speech!’ As Reg and his mates staggered in very perilously carrying the cake, Patrick stood up. Speaking in public didn’t rattle him in the least. He had all Declan’s assurance:

‘I’d like to thank my father and mother for having me,’ he said, ‘and giving me such a wonderful party, and for my sister Taggie for doing all the work, and making this wonderful cake.’ For a second Maud looked furious at the loudness of the cheers. ‘Thank you all for coming, and for all your presents, which I’ll open later when I get a moment.’

There were more loud cheers. Then, just as Caitlin finished lighting the candles, like the dark stranger coming over the threshold, Cameron Cook walked in. She was wearing an extremely tight-fitting, strapless, black suede dress, which came eight inches above her knees. Three-inch cross-laced gaps on either side from armpit to hem made it quite plain she was wearing nothing but Fracas and Mantan underneath. There was a heavy metal chain round her neck, and among the heavy silver bangles worn over her long black suede gloves gleamed Tony’s diamond bracelet.

Anyone else would have looked tarty in that dress, but Cameron, with her marvellously lean, sinuous, rapacious beauty, succeeded in looking both menacing and absolutely staggering.

‘Holy shit,’ said Patrick into the microphone.

Everyone screamed with laughter.

‘Blow out your candles,’ said Caitlin.

Still gazing at Cameron, Patrick blew them out with one puff, then turned to Declan. ‘Who the hell’s that?’

‘The biggest bitch in television,’ said Declan bleakly.

‘She may well be your future daughter-in-law,’ said Patrick.

‘Christ, I can just see her with a whip,’ muttered Bas to Rupert.

‘Perhaps that’s what gets your brother going.’

Basil turned to Daysee Butler: ‘Did you know your boss was heavily into SM?’

‘Who’s she?’ said Daysee.

‘Sorry I’m late,’ said Cameron, fighting her way through the crowd to Maud’s side. ‘We’ve had a lot of hassle at work.’

‘Lovely to see you at any time,’ said Maud. ‘Caitlin,’ she added pointedly, terrified that Caitlin might start monopolizing Rupert again, ‘will get you something to eat.’

‘She needs a drink,’ said Patrick.

Goodness, he’s pretty, thought Cameron. Like Declan, but purer-looking, somehow.

‘Aren’t you going to cut your cake?’ she said to him.

‘I’ve got to wish,’ said Patrick. Never taking his eyes off her, he slowly plunged the knife into the cake, right up to the hilt.

‘I didn’t have time to buy you a present,’ said Cameron.

‘You brought yourself,’ said Patrick, slightly mockingly. ‘Just what I wanted.’

Filling up his glass with champagne, he handed it to her.

‘Thanks.’ Taking it, Cameron drained the glass.

Just at that moment, from speakers all round the tent, Big Ben boomed out the twelve strokes of midnight. As everyone started kissing everyone else and cheering, Patrick drew Cameron into his arms and kissed her on and on and on.

At last they broke away.

‘The
coup de foudre
,’ said Patrick softly. ‘I’ve waited twenty-one years for this to happen.’

‘Look at Tony’s face,’ whispered Lizzie Vereker to Charles Fairburn with a shiver.

As the last notes of ‘Auld Lang Syne’ rang out, Declan could be heard saying, ‘Bloody January again.’

Plates were being cleared away, tables pushed back and the marquee cleared for dancing, as the women drifted upstairs to do their faces. Telling Cameron he wouldn’t be a second, Patrick went off to the kitchen to thank Taggie. Oblivious that Monica might be watching, Tony fought his way over to Cameron and seized her arm: ‘What the hell are you playing at?’

Cameron winced. ‘Celebrating Christmas. It hasn’t been great so far.’

‘I couldn’t get away.’

‘I guess not.’

‘That dress is deliberately provocative,’ snarled Tony.

‘Well, if it deliberately provokes you, it’s doing a great job.’

‘Why are you so fucking late?’

‘Titania’s four months gone.’

‘Shit. How d’you know?’

‘Wardrobe told me,’ said Cameron.

‘And she’s admitted it?’

‘Sure.’

‘Who’s the father?’

‘She’s not sure. It could be Bottom, or Theseus or even Peter Quince.’

‘Jesus – we’ll just have to shoot round her.’

Patrick never made it to the kitchen. Declan dragged him into the library.

‘For Christ’s sake, Cameron’s out of bounds.’

‘Why?’

‘She’s Tony Baddingham’s mistress.’

‘So. Are you frightened of losing your job?’